Speak with Your Hands
by Chicary
Summary: In her heart was a love of fairytales. But this love was buried under years of hardship that needed not to be spoken of to be obvious. Avishipping.


**A special thanks to **_**Elficiel**_** for contributing to this story and keeping the idea alive for two years and **_**yllimilly**_** for her thorough beta work. I couldn't have finished this short piece without the both of you.**

**A/N: **This takes place between the time Ishizu first meets Anzu and Atemu in the museum and the Battle City finals.

**Speak with Your Hands**

Ishizu's personality – who she is – is almost entirely drowned out.

For a woman of twenty, she could never quite identity her interests, hobbies or goals. If ever asked (which is rarely) she would say little more than what was already known and would halt further questioning with that apathetic look of hers. It was believed, by both Ishizu and those around her, that her current work and her passions were one and the same.

So when Ishizu found herself at the Domino library, she was convinced it was related to her mission to stop her rogue brother and the rare hunters. Her actions, more often than not, served a purpose; and when they didn't, a purpose would retroactively be given to them. The latter was currently the case as she wandered through the many shelves of the "fiction" section, occasionally glancing out of the massive windows on the East and West ends of the room.

It was obvious that a place like Domino Library wouldn't be much use to her, especially the fiction section. But perhaps the act of getting to know a new system – such as that of this library – would serve to rejuvenate her mind and help her figure out the next step.

And there was the retroactive purpose.

Which would swiftly be followed by another because this was specifically the _children's_ section. The shorter bookshelves and colourful carpeting should have given it away. Hmm.

But in the midst of leaving, a book jutting out from its place caught her eye. She reached to pull it out, reflexively tugging her long sleeve to cover her hand before eying the cover. _Hanasaka Jiisan - The Story of the Old Man Who Made Withered Trees to Blossom._ She had yet to learn about much of the culture but from what she gathered, this looked like a Japanese fairy tale.

Ishizu had to smile at the navy blue, star-studded hard cover. It seemed that even if one is not familiar with a story, there are certain universal elements of fairy tales that made them recognizable. And it wasn't the fact that what she was holding was a board book or that fact that it had no more than ten pages. But this was a fleeting thought as she slipped the book back in place.

"Ishizu?"

This particular part of the library, it seemed, wanted to keep her there, because just as her fingers left the shelf, a familiar voice stole her attention. At first, she could do nothing but stare.

The man spoke again, "Yes, you are Ishizu."

She was quite good at remembering faces but this was a unique situation and she'd only met this person once. At least she thought she did.

He seemed to notice her hesitance and tipped his head forward slightly, his gaze calm and inviting but his posture notably authoritative.

Therein, Ishizu realized, lay her answer.

For someone who'd managed to tactfully bring the Pharaoh exactly where she'd wanted him (sight unseen), out of her element, Ishizu wasn't sure what to do. So, basing her actions on manners alone, she approached him.

The Pharaoh sat in one of the few adult-sized chairs of that section. A closed book lay on his lap but she could see that he was bookmarking a page with his fingers. It was a strange sight; the ancient Pharaoh (whom she'd learned only "came out" during a duel) sitting amidst colourful walls and images of Japanese cartoon figures with a children's book in his lap and still managing to look perfectly regal.

She stood before him, hands clapped on top of each other in front of her; head slightly bowed; reserved. But she couldn't help a glance at the title.

_The Happy Prince_ _by Oscar Wilde_

"It's an honour to meet you again," Ishizu said, unconsciously pulling her hands into her sleeves, "And on such unexpected circumstances as well."

The Pharaoh smiled, "Likewise." He laughed, "My partner feels I should get out more."

She returned the smile and forced out a breath of laughter. Admittedly, it sounded more sad than funny. This was so different from what she'd grown up learning. It was almost like the Pharaoh, one of the greatest pharaohs that had ever lived, in fact, was being both punished and blessed with this – innocence (or was it ignorance?).

She became aware of the soft murmuring in the background near the check-out area. "This world must feel unusual to you," she said carefully.

"A bit," he sighed, flipping open the book so that both hands were free. The image of a statue of a golden prince stared back at Ishizu, "But I've always lived through his eyes. Very little is completely new, though I can't say I'm not somewhat disoriented."

"You seem to be doing very well." The murmuring with at a volume where one would catch a few words but not be able to completely tell what was being said.

The Pharaoh looked directly at her and smiled. She offered a weak smile in return, though without really looking at him.

Left to its own devices, the Millennium Necklace acted according to its own schedule. Although Ishizu's will guided the item to some extent, she could rarely predict its actions. It didn't always show her what she wanted to see and, on many occasions, struck her with visions when she least expected it.

Bearing the item hindered her life. Her activities became restricted and steered in a rigid direction. Although she'd learned to exert control over it with time, there was no doubt the Necklace carved out her future. After all, it was not every day that someone became regarded as an _expert_ in Egyptology by the age of twenty.

The pharaoh shifted in his seat and Ishizu realized she was staring rather hard at the picture. She couldn't help but wonder if this encounter would have gone smoother if the Necklace had warned her. Perhaps she could have avoided it altogether. "Are you enjoying the book?" She added, in hopes of filling the silence.

"It's interesting." He paused to think, "A strange story that apparently veils a worldly truth. My partner tells me its reasons like these that I need to explore the world on my own more." He snapped it close and looked at the back cover.

Ishizu decided not to ask. It wasn't her business what went on between the pharaoh and his vessel. But something was tickling at the back of her mind. There was incongruence between what she thought she knew about the pharaoh and the person in front of her. Even when she factored out his memory loss, his residence within Yugi's body and the new, more modern life he'd created as the result of both, Ishizu felt that he and the hero of her childhood scriptures weren't quite the same.

In some ways, this person was more approachable.

Ishizu tried to understand her nervousness. Being in the museum couldn't have made such a big difference, could it? Perhaps Anzu's presence at the time had made things easier. Anzu could have been the visible reminder that she needed to keep things professional.

The Pharaoh regarded her carefully before saying, "I don't want you to feel like I'm not grateful for what you told me in the museum. I truly am."

She suddenly felt guilty. Outside of the museum, this talk felt almost inappropriate, like business talk during an amusement park ride. And, even though thoughts of her brother occupied her mind day and night, it was inconsiderate to relentlessly impose this on others. So she changed the subject, "You said before that you feel disoriented. I hope you don't mind my asking in what way."

"I feel like I'm seeing the world through a television screen," he replied, confident about this experience, "and that I have little control because I am only an observer. The only exception is when I duel. But when I duel, my purpose is to duel."

"So you still feel restricted."

He nodded.

Ishizu was surprised he was willing to reveal something so intimate so easily and she was compelled to match him. The default was for her to conceal, but she felt the need to share. "I can understand that, my Pharaoh. We were the keepers of your tomb, after all."

He gestured with a hand for her to take a seat. There was nothing but a kiddie chair but she took it anyways, soothing her dress over her knees when she sat down. It looked like he was going to say something but he held back.

"When I was young," Ishizu continued, "Before I ventured into the world above ground, that was all I knew, so I didn't feel restricted or oppressed."

His face softened and she guessed what he might have wanted to say. Unfortunately, that part of her life was incredibly short, perhaps too short for her to remember clearly. The majority of her life underground had not been lived in such ignorance.

"What were your duties?" The Pharaoh asked gently.

Ishizu wasn't comfortable with the attention on her but she answered anyways, "Our responsibility was to guard the pharaoh's - " she paused, wondering if she should continue talking about the man in front of her in third person but he didn't seem to notice, " - memory and keep his tomb from being discovered. The systems to do so were already put in place many generations ago so we only needed to maintain them. The majority of our work involved keeping the tomb clean and attaining our necessities."

The Pharaoh studied her, a hint of guilt in his face, "I can only imagine what that would be like for those living underground."

Ishizu rubbed a calloused hand over the other, "Well, when you knew nothing else…"

She was suddenly aware that she was placating him, which was an excess on her part. Even though it wasn't his fault, this man was the reason her family was chained to the tomb, the reason for her father's tyranny and the reason for her brother's intense bitterness.

But she wanted to placate him because there was still that part of her, the part within her childhood that was buried but not extinguished, that touted him as a fairytale hero. Even at the depths of Egypt where no one could reach her, Ishizu had once been a little girl drawn to tales of magic and heroes. Her interest in the scriptures had been genuine and she consumed them hungrily, attentive to every move her pharaoh made in those stories. He had been a god in her eyes and she'd dream of one day meeting him.

The colourful room that would have been more colourful when the sun shone through its windows looked pale and discoloured. There were fewer people than usual and Ishizu guessed it was probably due to the fact that it was a weekday

Ishizu studied his face and traced his sharp jawline down to his neck, then to his strong arms and the form fitting shirt that hugged his midsection. She pursed her lips and looked away, blushing.

His voice brought back her attention and she tried her best to keep her thoughts from being transparent, "Did you ever wish for something more?"

Ishizu blinked, startled, "I don't understand."

"People tend to strive for more, even when they don't know what the 'more' is." He frowned, trying to get at the right words, "With some exception, this is generally human nature."

"Then no," she lied.

"So you were content with living a hard life?"

They were interrupted when a woman holding the hand of a toddler walked by. She looked at them sheepishly, apologized and the two disappeared behind some bookshelves.

Ishizu cleared her throat and straightened one of her braids, quickly pulling down her sleeve when it slid too far up her forearm. She hoped that he hadn't noticed but the hasty way she tugged at her sleeve caught his eye. There was a heaviness in her chest as she watched him from the corner of her eye looking at her hands, which she slowly curled and withdrew further into her sleeve.

Silence hung heavily between them, Ishizu feeling all the more pressured to fill the silence as the seconds passed. But when it felt like her nerves couldn't take it anymore, it was him who spoke, "You must be a very patient person then. I would have been angry and resentful."

The first thought that came to mind was that the pharaoh had discovered her secret - that he knew Malik was her brother and that all this was for the sake of revenge. Ishizu visibly stiffened, her mind scrambling to figure out the next move now that her plans had been thrown off course. Her father had had no tolerance for mistakes and, as a result, had instilled in his children a permanent fear of them.

The pharaoh propped an elbow on his seat and tilted towards Ishizu. His musk was unavoidable and she oriented towards it before straightening in her little chair and soothing out non-existent wrinkles in her dress. The library suddenly grew quiet and a quick scan around the room told her that, save for a woman behind the front desk, they were the only ones there. For a moment, she wished she was under the covers of her childhood bedroom with her head buried in a scroll. "Serving the Pharaoh was nothing but an honour."

She thought of her brother and a pang of guilt tugged at her heart. She gathered up all her nerves and studied the Pharaoh's face as inconspicuously as possible, searching for any signs that he knew. But he only sighed, the corner of his eyes drooping with wiriness.

The Millennium Puzzle against his stomach gave off a soft light and he looked down, placing a gentle hand on it, "It looks like my time is up for today." He stood up suddenly and all the thoughts swirling around in Ishizu's mind dissipated. But when he held out his hand to her, Ishizu's panic rose.

She stared at the hand in front of her, tracing the lines in his palm before following the hand up to his arm, arriving at the kind face of the Pharaoh. She hesitated, forcing a smile in hopes of distracting him. The fingers on her right hand twitched indecisively before making a fist and then slowly releasing. Without any other choice, she swallowed, finally reaching out before the delay got too long.

She made to grasp the tips of his fingers, hoping to let go as swiftly as possible. But before she could pull away, he enveloped her small hand in his strong grip and pulled her gently from her seat. She bit back a nervous hiss when he ran his thumb over the back of her hand, going over the scar where the snake bite never properly healed. His fingers brushed over the calluses in her palm, the ones from the years of pulling up heavy buckets of water with camel-hair ropes. When her sleeve slid up, it was obvious that the strain on her skin had caused a great deal of discolouration.

There was a time when she had imagined him holding her hand as if she was his lover. He would take her in his strong arms and press her tight against him and all her mistakes would be absolved. He would permit her to whine, complain and cry. He would allow her to share her secrets and not have judgment in his heart. And when the Egyptian nights were especially cold, he would be a trusted source of warmth.

Anxiety bubbled hot within her as she waited for him to release his hold. She could not look him in the eyes, afraid of the disgust she would see. But instead of dropping her hand and allowing her to duck away in shame, he clasped it between both of his, as if encasing it in something protective. His hands were warm as she'd always imagined them to be but she just couldn't relish this touch. She just couldn't.

"Thank you for your company," he said, pressing his lips to her hand. He let them linger there before slowly pulling away, leaving behind a cooling wetness, "I am deeply honoured, Ishizu, for everything. Thank you, thank you very much."

Her eyes watered as he let go and he tipped his head forward, almost in a bow, before he left.

Ishizu stared at the spot where he kissed her and it was beautiful.

* * *

><p>They had been given orders to board the ship even though the eighth contestant had yet to show up. Seto Kaiba, it seemed, was more than willing to bend the rules when he already had what he wanted in his hands.<p>

Roland and Thompson looked at each other uneasily as their bosses ascended the stairs of the blimp, Mokuba a little bit more reluctant to do so than his brother.

"What do we do?" Roland asked his colleague, secretly hoping the young business owner wasn't so inconsiderate.

But Thompson knew better, "We follow Mr. Kaiba's orders."

But as soon as Thompson had said so, the shadow of a person caught the corner of his eye and he turned to see a woman come through the entrance. She walked confidently, the windy stadium blowing the tail of her head covering around her and making it look like a cape. Despite the cold, her attire was made of light linen that hugged her body and accentuated every curve. Her garb was adorned in antique jewellery, worn in a style that made it clear she was a foreigner. The lower half of her face was covered so all one could see were her stern blue eyes. Her entire body was covered except for her arms which, with the exception of golden armbands, were bare.

She stepped up to Thompson, "I believe you gentlemen are waiting for me," she said, holding up her six locator cards with the back her hand facing the man.

"Welcome," he replied and handed her a tournament identification card, "follow us."

The men turned to lead the way and as she followed, she looked up at the massive structure that was to be the arena for a fated tournament. Peering out one of the windows was a familiar face. The person seemed to be taking in the view with large, pondering eyes. She tapped into the Necklace but it gave her nothing, and she was glad.

**- End -**

**End Notes: **The last part of this was taken from Episode 32 titled "Let the Finals Begin!" in the dub. I realize I mixed Japanese and dub names in this and it's simply because I happen to like some of the English names better and feel that they suit the characters better than their "original" names.


End file.
